Whiskey - Straight or Gay?
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Kurt has been scoping out the sexy bartender at the club he's in, wondering all night if the man is flirting with him because it's his job, or because he's gay. He'll find out ... due to an embarrassing slip of the tongue. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


"Okay, handsome – what's your poison?"

"Tequila."

"Ooo, a tequila drinker. I _adore_ tequila myself."

"Do you?"

A suggestive smile passes between them. One man licks his lips. The other pretends not to notice.

"Yup. A Cuervo Gold man, through and through. How about you?"

Kurt looks on, gut twisting with jealousy as the bartender pours the man his drink. He slides it across the bar with a flirty smile and a wink – the hundredth 'smile and wink' combination he's handed out tonight.

It works like a charm since the man leaves behind a five dollar tip for a three dollar shot.

"Hey! Noel!"

Kurt turns. He's learned by now that this bartender likes to dole out nicknames to his customers. 'Noel' is the name he's chosen for Kurt. If it's in reference to Noel Coward, then Kurt is flattered. If it's not … well, then Kurt has no idea whom the bartender might be referring to, and therefore no clue if he should be offended or not.

"Have you decided what you want yet?" the sexy man with the sultry voice and the liquid gold eyes asks. He rests one elbow on the bar, hand curled against his cheek, and waits for Kurt's answer.

"Uh … no," Kurt says sheepishly. "No, I haven't. To be honest, I don't usually drink. I'm what you might call a career designated driver."

"Ah …" The bartender straightens, affecting an upper-crust accent along with a more serious demeanor, slightly tarnished by the never-fading gleam of mischief in his eyes. "A noble profession. I tip my hat to you, sir. By all means, take your time. Besides, if we're being honest, it's fun watching you pace."

Kurt chuckles nervously. He's been caught. He didn't think he was being obvious, but apparently he was. "Really?"

"A-ha. The view is stunning … in _both_ directions."

Kurt feels his cheeks glow as the bartender saunters away. He can't help it. He feels like a shark circling a cage, and inside that cage – the tastiest looking diver he's ever seen. But Kurt has to get his head on straight, has to stop assuming that every man who flirts with him is into him. After all, he's not in a _gay specific_ bar. This man has flirted in one way or another with every man and woman who's ordered a drink.

It probably keeps his tip jar full.

Kurt doesn't begrudge the man that. He knows how difficult it is to make a buck in this city. It just makes things a little more confusing, especially when misconstruing social cues can get you very much beat the hell up in New York. That's part of the reason why Kurt doesn't usually frequent bars of any orientation. Aside from that, he's not really that fond of hookup culture.

But this man … _this_ man …

If this man is gay, Kurt can see bringing him home, which is extremely forward thinking considering Kurt has only had two serious boyfriends so far, and as for bringing a guy home?

Never before the third date. It's been a hard-and-fast rule since he left the safety net of his shared loft and moved into his own place.

"You know, if you're going to wear a groove into the floor, maybe we should introduce ourselves." Kurt's gaze lifts from his shoes, which he'd started staring holes through without realizing it, and looks at the megawatt smile aimed directly at him. "My name's Blaine."

Blaine reaches out a hand and Kurt takes it. "Hi. It's … uh … nice to meet you."

"And you are …?" Blaine prompts when it seems Kurt might not reciprocate.

"Oh. My name's Kurt."

"Kurt." Blaine rolls the name around in his mouth, keeps it there like it's the answer to a question he's been contemplating for hours on. "I like that. Kurt. It's straightforward - a no nonsense kind of name, isn't it?"

"I … I guess so," Kurt says, marveling a bit since he's always seen his name as kind of plain, old-fashioned …

… ordinary.

"Okay, _Kurt_ , are you any closer to making up your mind?"

"Can I ask … w-what do you recommend?" Kurt heard Blaine recommend Cuervo Gold, and even though Kurt does fancy tequila, he refuses to order the same drink as the man who left.

He doesn't want the two of them to blend together in Blaine's memory.

"Well, if you were going to buy _me_ a drink, I'd order a whiskey."

Kurt raises his eyebrows, not only at the man's answer, but the implication. Is this an act to get tips? Or is it actual flirting? It's been so long since anyone's flirted with him, Kurt can't tell anymore. "Whiskey?"

"Yup."

"Okay, then. Whiskey, please."

"Right-y o. Straight?"

The question catches Kurt completely off-guard. He knows what Blaine means, but it's also the one question he's been trying to find a subtle way of asking Blaine all night.

But the answer Kurt gives, a second after Blaine's question registers, fills him head to toe with talons of dread shredding up his spine.

"No. Gay, actually."

Kurt's eyes blow wide when he hears those words in his own voice, his last few breaths evacuating his lungs like his soul leaving his body. His eyes sweep the bar to see if anyone around him noticed, but thankfully the few people within earshot appear too drunk or otherwise occupied to give two shits about his conversation with Blaine.

Blaine, on the other hand, stops amid his flow of pouring and serving drinks and laughs. For the first time that night, he looks flustered. "Uh … no, that's … I mean, like, neat."

"I know, right?" Kurt barks out, continuing this new horrifying trend of saying the first thing that pops into his mouth before he can stop himself. Blaine laughs again, and Kurt does, too … lamely … attempting anything to diffuse the situation other than hide his head in his hands and run out the door.

He could always pretend to have a seizure. He's heard that's an effective way to escape embarrassing situations.

Of course, he heard that from Brittany, so that information may not be the most reliable.

His laugh having cooled to an amused chuckle, Blaine shakes his head and gets to work. He grabs a napkin from behind the bar, separating it from the stack out of Kurt's line of sight. It seems to give him trouble. He spends more time than normal toying with it. He pours Kurt's glass of whiskey, puts it on the napkin, then pushes it towards him.

"Here's your whiskey … _gay_ ," Blaine says, tossing Kurt one of his signature winks.

Kurt smiles, relieved that there's no tension between them. Things haven't gotten too awkward. At least they can joke about his little slip up.

Yes, sir. Now, after Kurt finishes his drink, he can go on his merry way with his head held high …

… and never step foot into this bar again.

"What makes it gay?" Kurt asks, determined to keep some semblance of a conversation going so as not to look like a total imbecile.

"My phone number on the napkin." Blaine leans over the bar. Kurt feels Blaine's breath tickle his cheek - its warmth and the sweet smell of peppermint it carries more intoxicating than the drink in his glass. "Incidentally, I get off at midnight."


End file.
